An Ordinary Day

by Trevor Corbett

  ‘The cases have been transferred as far as I can see. The Metro Police have arrived and there’s a cop talking to our lady. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.’

  Durant returned to the monitoring vehicle at the same time as Elhasomi walked through the front door into the townhouse. Salem brought the three cases into the house, one at a time, and left them in the dining room.

  ‘Are you crazy, Leila? What the hell were you doing?’ Salem asked, his hands clutching hers.

  ‘I am fine, thank you. Thank you for asking.’

  ‘You could have been killed!’

  ‘Calm down, Ben, it is not so bad.’

  ‘Now the police are involved. It’s a disaster.’

  ‘It is fine. I have diplomatic immunity; I am a Libyan national. They cannot touch me.’

  ‘What’s in the suitcases, Leila?’

  Elhasomi sat down at the dining room table and put her head in her hands. ‘I am feeling dizzy right now. Can I have some water?’

  Salem quickly fetched a glass from the kitchen, filled it with water and brought it to her.

  ‘What’s in the cases, Leila?’

  Elhasomi drank the water and placed the glass on the dining room table. She didn’t look up.

  ‘It is just some local art pieces. African art, masks and beads. I am expected to bring samples back to Tripoli; that is what I do. Now, please, I need to lie down, I am starting to shake.’

  ‘She’s shaking,’ Durant agreed, the black and white images from the monitor giving his face a surreal glow. ‘She should be hospitalised for observation. It was a high-speed impact.’

  ‘I wish she’d open the cases and show us what’s in them,’ Shezi said, rubbing his burning eyes in an effort to keep them focused. ‘The place in Prospecton doesn’t sound like a place where they’d store art. Salem’s just as suspicious as we are.’

  ‘She’s going to lie down,’ Amina said excitedly. ‘Now let’s hope curiosity gets the better of Mr Salem and he opens the cases.’

  Durant smiled. ‘It’s clear she didn’t want Salem to know about the cases. Samples? I don’t believe it.’ Then after a pause, he announced, ‘I gave her my number.’

  Amina looked puzzled. ‘What number?’

  ‘My cell number. At the accident scene. I said she may get into trouble and if she does she must give me a call. I thought it was a strategic opportunity.’

  Amina laughed. ‘How’re you going to help her? She’s the target, remember!’

  ‘Get my contacts in the police to harass her about reckless driving. Lay charges, and when the heat gets turned up, she’ll remember the card I gave her and she’ll give me a call. It’s a way of maintaining control over this situation, getting close to her. A little dangle.’

  Shezi leaned over and slapped Durant hard on the back. ‘Maybe she’ll invite you over for dinner, Kev. Then we can watch from here.’

  ‘You’re a funny guy, Mike. But you know what—’ Durant was distracted by the sight of Salem crouching down beside one of the suitcases.

  ‘He’s going to open them!’ Shezi shouted so loud, Durant was sure people walking past the monitoring van would have heard him.

  Salem appeared to be inspecting the latches on the suitcases carefully. Every few seconds, he looked up at the stairs where Elhasomi had disappeared a few moments earlier. The camera on the first-floor landing confirmed Elhasomi had gone to the bathroom first, come out with a facecloth on her forehead, and then disappeared through the bedroom door out of camera view.

  ‘They’re locked,’ Amina said excitedly.

  ‘She wouldn’t have left them alone with Salem if they weren’t,’ Durant said. ‘Look!’

  Salem took a small pouch from his jacket pocket and began picking the lock on one case. ‘He’s picking the lock. This guy’s a professional!’

  Within seconds both locks on the case were open and Salem gently laid the suitcase down before flipping up the lid. It was open for no more than a second, and he quickly closed it and reset the locks in place. He seemed unsurprised at the contents, and walked outside where he made a call on his cellphone. Durant and Amina stared at each other while Shezi kept on looking at the monitor with an incredulous stare. The camera in the dining room had clearly shown that the case was packed tightly with what appeared to be bundles of hundred-dollar bills.

  Paul Scott arrived in Durban in the late afternoon, and by the early evening made contact with an acquaintance in the Metro Police. Sergeant Cox liked the American. They were the same age, but Scott had a title: Regional Security Officer. Fifteen years in the force, and still a damn sergeant. Cox was calling black superintendents he’d trained ‘sir’. He knew it was wrong to help the American. But if it meant that job in a quiet county sheriff’s office, hell, he was willing to sacrifice a little bit of loyalty for self-respect.

  ‘Sergeant Cox, Leila Elhasomi, diplomatic status, Libyan. I briefed you about her. We believe she’s in Durban.’

  Cox’s face lit up. ‘The Libyan goddess! Everyone’s talking about her at the station. Beautiful, beautiful – looks a lot like that actress, what’s her name? Acted in … damn, what’s her name?’

  ‘Who’s talking about her?’ Scott interjected sharply.

  ‘Station. Our guys attended a mva at the intersection of Argyle and Florida. She collided with a pole. Wrote off the car. Must’ve been motoring it. Lucky to come out in one piece.’

  ‘Wait a sec, Sarge, are you telling me Elhasomi had an auto wreck this morning?’

  ‘It’s a bad intersection, Paul. It’s wider than most people think. The robot, sorry – traffic light – hits orange, and people put foot instead of braking.’

  ‘Was she injured?’

  ‘Nah, superficial. Walked away. Actually, her boyfriend came to fetch her. She lives around the corner.’

  ‘What boyfriend? Tell me about the boyfriend. Does he have a name?’

  ‘I’m not sure if they got his name. I’ll find out.’

  Scott put his hand on Cox’s shoulder. ‘Sergeant, you’re a good cop. This is good info. Got an address?’

  ‘No. But I can get it.’

  ‘I like the way you think. I need a copy of the accident report. Whatever you have, I need it, and I need it fast.’

  ‘I’ll have it for you in the morning. The guys who attended the scene will be off duty now. I’ll talk to them tomorrow. What else?’

  ‘Will you be able to get into her house and look around?’

  ‘That’ll be difficult. She’s claimed diplomatic immunity. They wanted to press charges for jumping the red light. She referred our guys to the Libyan embassy in Pretoria. It’s politically sensitive.’

  ‘Sarge, listen to me, this is important. I need whatever you can get for me. You know I appreciate your co-operation. We need results, and only you can deliver them, you understand?’

  ‘I appreciate the kind words, Paul, really I do. Any news on the … you know … the overseas job?’

  ‘I’ve sent the correspondence to the Dade County Sheriff’s Office. They seem pretty interested in a man of your calibre and dedication. We just have to be patient. There’s a lot of organising and hustling, you understand, but trust me, I’m on it.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m counting on you.’

  ‘But I need you to focus on Elhasomi at this time, Sarge, let’s find this girl.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ Cox said, and hoped the salute wasn’t too over the top. Scott wasn’t convinced that this loser was up to it, but he knew that he had delivered on his promise to Baker to bring Elhasomi’s address to the CIA within twenty-four hours. He had bought the extra time he needed.

  The day’s debriefing took place as the sun was setting and the high-spirited group huddled closely around the restaurant table at Horizons. Bottomless coffee flowed and the atmosphere was undeniably jovial.

  ‘Something’s bothering me,’ Shezi said, flipping a teaspoon between his fingers and then skilfully tapping out a double paradiddle on the suga
r bowl.

  ‘I know what. Three cases of hundred-dollar bills?’ Amina said.

  ‘Exactly. She picked up three cases of money from an address in – where? – Prospecton. A building belonging to Gaddafi – Libyan money. How did so much cash get into the country?’

  ‘If we knew that,’ Durant said smiling, ‘we wouldn’t be drinking coffee here, we’d be drinking champagne.’

  ‘The diplomatic pouch, or … maybe … I—’

  Amina turned to Shezi. ‘Stop fidgeting. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered something. Back in a bit.’ Shezi excused himself from the table.

  Amina bit her lip and looked down at the tablecloth. ‘The money’s Ali’s payment. That’s why she’s here. She’ll have to meet him personally to hand it over.’

  ‘Salem bothers me. He wasn’t too surprised to see the money. Maybe he’s a minder.’

  ‘Hello? They’re sleeping together, Kevin. I’ve read Mills and Boon. I think it may even be love.’

  ‘Love, really? They maybe need a counselling course to deal with their communication issues.’

  ‘The atmosphere’s a bit tense because of the accident. She’s hiding something from him.’

  ‘And he knows it. I think this accident might have shaken up her perfect plan a bit.’

  A smiling Shezi returned to the table and sat down. ‘Remember Maistry?’ he asked.

  ‘Maistry?’

  ‘From customs. I worked with him on some special events a while back. I called him. He says the Libyans brought in three cases during the African Union thing. Twelve million dollars in cash.’

  The colour drained from Durant’s face. ‘These are the cases?’

  Shezi held his hand up for a high five, which both Durant and Amina obliged. ‘Same cases, guys. Elhasomi’s got twelve million us dollars in our house.’

  ‘Something big’s happening here, guys. Plan of action?’

  Clearly, Amina and Shezi were hoping Durant already had the plan all figured out.

  ‘Dunno, I guess we wait. We follow the suitcases, they take us to Ali.’ Amina’s plan was too simple, too obvious.

  ‘Amina, go and visit that biryani lady tomorrow. We need to know all there is to know about that building: ownership, who pays the electricity, who visits there, what they do, what’s inside.’

  ‘Bring some biryani back,’ Shezi chipped in.

  ‘Good idea, bring some biryani back. Mike, do background checks on this Salem guy. Start with the internet and see who’s importing and exporting wine. We need the name of Salem’s business in Malta so we can send our secret service people there to investigate. I’ll monitor the townhouse tomorrow. Anja must stay on Elhasomi. We need to start seeing the damn picture on the puzzle box.’

  Durant arrived home in the early evening to a ransacked house. Cupboards opened, books lying everywhere, cushions from the couch scattered on the floor. Durant stood in the hallway and called Stephanie’s name, but there was no response. There was no sign of a forced entry and the alarm hadn’t gone off. He went cold with apprehension. Mojo. Or one of Ali’s other goons … but how had they found his address? Where was Stephanie? The house was quiet and all the lights were off. Stephanie’s clothes littered the passageway leading to the bedrooms and Durant felt his chest tighten. His pistol was locked in his safe at the office. Regulations. Paperwork to bring it home. But he wished he had it now.

  The house was silent; perhaps the intruders had left, but where was Stephanie? He called her name again, knowing at the same time that he was drawing attention to himself if they were still in the house. He retreated to the kitchen and his shaking hands fell onto a torch on the kitchen counter which he picked up and clicked on. Dead. He’d forgotten to buy batteries again, but it would make a weapon of sorts if he swung it hard enough and it hit the intruder in the eye.

  The police. He should phone the police, or better, the armed response company. He fumbled in his pockets for his cellphone and realised he’d left it in the car. The portable home phone was usually in the bedroom; he had to go down the passage. Alexis wasn’t crying; there was no sound at all and this frightened him even more. He peeked into Alexis’ room. Untidy. Normal. The cot was empty. He looked across to the doorway of the spare bedroom and skirted across the passage into it. Everything looked normal.

  Just the main bedroom left.

  ‘Come out with your hands up,’ Durant said and then realised it was the most ridiculous thing to say because the intruders would come out expecting a heavily armed security warden or a policeman in a bulletproof vest and all they’d see was Kevin Durant armed with a torch with flat batteries. He was acting irrationally; it was his nerves. He had to go in.

  The bedroom was quiet, it was the last room to check and he had to be brave. He’d lost any element of surprise and knew that if they were armed, they would shoot him as he appeared at the door. But he had no choice. Stephanie. Alexis.

  The silence was shattered by the ringing phone. Durant fell backwards against the passage wall, as if to protect himself from the shrill noise which rattled every nerve-ending in his body. Again, irrationally, he thought this was the diversion he needed; the intruders would be distracted, confused. He fell into the room, shoulder forward, diving for the bed to cover Stephanie, rolled off onto the floor, hitting his knee on the bedside table, sending it spinning over. A lamp crashed to the floor and Durant smashed into the cupboard door.

  In one movement, despite the pain in his knee, he was on his feet and holding the torch in front of him like a gun, its front part now missing. Stephanie wasn’t there, nobody was there. His eyes flitted around the room quickly. The lamp was on the floor, broken, the cupboard door hung on one hinge, but he was alone. The phone. Durant could hear it, but it had fallen off the bedside table and rolled under the bed. He fell to his knees and winced in pain. The phone was still ringing when he found it.

  ‘Why did you take so long to answer the phone? Kevin, I’ve taken Stephanie to hospital,’ Stephanie’s mother said. ‘She’s okay, but she had some kind of episode, wrecked the house. The doctor said sometimes a small trigger … we tried to call you on your cell …’

  ‘Angela. What actually …? She was fine this morning.’

  ‘Your cell just rings.’

  ‘It’s in the car.’

  ‘The doctor gave her an injection to calm her down. She wanted to jump out the car. It was awful. She’s sleeping now, poor girl.’

  Durant picked up the bedside table and put the broken lamp back onto it. His heart was still pounding in his chest and his leg hurt like hell.

  Durant got home from the hospital late because Stephanie only woke up at 9 p.m. She remembered nothing of wrecking the house and appeared calm and relaxed; the drugs were working well. Durant hadn’t spoken to the doctor because he wasn’t available, and the ward sisters seemed tight-lipped about Stephanie’s condition. The psychiatric ward wasn’t a good place to be, Durant thought. The woman in the bed next to Stephanie’s howled like a wolf every few minutes, which sent shivers up his spine. Stephanie seemed oblivious to her surroundings, and although she spoke to Durant, her voice was monotonous and tired. She asked about Alexis and apologised for spoiling Durant’s day. He indicated that he hadn’t had such a good day either, but was hoping for better. A bunch of roses arrived at the ward in the early evening. Durant assumed it was from her mother and cursed himself for forgetting to buy her flowers. He promised he’d visit in the morning and kissed her goodnight at around ten.

  Amina leaned back in the uncomfortable chair in the monitoring van and looked at her cellphone. Ahmed had phoned six times and six times Amina had ignored his call. Her watch said it was ten past ten; Elhasomi had disappeared up the stairs and into the bedroom fifteen minutes earlier. Salem sat at the dining room table silently, staring vacantly at the photograph of Rachel Dahdi, as if deep in thought. Amina leaned forward towards the monitor and frowned. Salem’s behaviour was odd, out of character. He seldom sat still
for any length of time, and Amina wondered what he was thinking about. Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a text message reaching her cellphone.

  Ahmed’s message was short, but clear. ‘I am now beyond angry.’ Within a minute, Amina had packed her briefcase, locked the monitoring van and left for her apartment.

  Durant reached the monitoring van at 7:30 the next morning. He hadn’t slept much. He’d cleaned up the house, watched a late movie, showered, written some reminder notes, lain in bed for a while, fixed the broken lamp and had only fallen asleep at about 1:30. At five he was up and he phoned Angela to check on Alexis, who was doing fine.

  The monitoring van was warm and someone, probably Shezi, had put some Christmas decorations around the equipment. The monochrome screens showed no movement in the dining area, lounge, kitchen, bedroom landing or entrance hall. A quick phone call to Anja revealed that the surveillance unit had deployed close to the townhouse at five and hadn’t observed any movement. Neither vehicle was visible, but Durant assumed both were in the double garage. There had been no sign of the suitcases since they’d last been seen in the dining room area when Salem had opened one. The previous evening, according to Amina’s notes, the atmosphere in the townhouse had been tense and there had been little conversation between Salem and Elhasomi. Salem had made a few calls on his cellphone, but spoke outside on the balcony, out of earshot of the microphones in the house. Elhasomi also made a few calls, one arranging a meeting with someone at a container depot, but the conversation was mostly inaudible due to interference in the transmission.

  Durant leaned back in the chair and stared at the monitor, which showed a dishcloth lying on the dining room table, concealing a long cylindrical shape under it. It was frustrating for Durant to look at the monitor without being able to zoom in, adjust the aperture of the camera for better definition or focus the lens to make the image clearer.